After
by automaton1c
Summary: My second The Last Guardian fic. This is my personal take on what happens after the events of the game. This fic is in no way canon, it's just an idea I had.
1. Beginning

The man laid in his cot, staring up at the ceiling. He shifted, causing his bed to creak. No matter. The rest of his hut was empty, anyway. He was alone.

The ceiling was crafted out of sticks, bark, and leaves. The workers had done a good job, for how quickly it had been constructed. Still, his home was not a pleasant place to be when the rains came.

A green, circular mirror lay on his stomach. The cool metal was soothing, even though the night was cold. His arms were crossed over it, as if someone would attempt to take it.

He was a well-built man, pure muscle and bone. Average height, maybe a bit on the short side. His black hair was long, and a messy beard covered the lower half of his face. The most striking thing about the man, however, were his tattoos. Black, intricate, mysterious tattoos, covering nearly his entire body, though the majority of his face was left untouched.

The man ran his hand along the grooves of the mirror. Normally, he left it underneath his cot, but tonight, he felt as though he needed it. It comforted and saddened him at the same time.

Memories rushed through his head. He closed his eyes, and remembered.

* * *

He was a boy again, bare feet padding along stone floors. He was climbing a wall of vine, making his way up a wall. Getting to a platform, the boy stuck out his arms, balancing nimbly and walking a short distance. Parts of the wall crumbled underfoot, but he paid it no mind.

He was a boy. And what was a boy without a companion?

"Trico!" he called, a note of glee in his tone. He leaped off the wall, landing squarely on the back of his friend, grasping at feathers to keep his position.

The hyena-bird twisted his neck, looking back at the child, carefully watching him flail around. Gently pushing his muzzle towards the boy, he gave a soft rumble.

His friend grinned, leaning precariously off of his back to rub the hard velvet of his nose. "Good Trico. Good."

* * *

The man abruptly sat up, shaking his head. Why did he torture himself so? Roughly, he ran his hands over his face, and swung his legs out of bed. It seemed he would be getting no sleep tonight.

With a groan, he stood, taking his mirror, and feeling a twinge of pain run through his right leg. Favoring it, he left his hut, stepping out into the pale moonlight. It was a chilly night. Goosebumps erupted over his arms, but they went largely ignored.

He turned his head towards the stars. In the huts beside him, men snored. Two children, up late, giggled to each other. A woman said a name in her sleep, certainly not the name of her husband, who lay blissfully ignorant beside her.

He blocked it all out.

Taking a deep breath, he held the mirror at arm's length, studying it. Then, almost hesitantly, he lifted it, pointing the beam at the clouds. The green circle, almost like a crosshair, illuminated the night sky, and frightened a few birds nesting in the trees nearby. The light reached quite far, but… not far enough.

Feeling foolish, he lowered the mirror. What was he expecting? His friend, his companion, his savior? Did he think the beast would fly out of the foliage with the birds? The man shook his head. He'd tried in the past, multiple times, but nothing ever came out of it. It seemed that the mirror was nothing but an antique, now.

Slinging it over his back in an achingly familiar way, he turned, ready to retreat back into his hut. However, a distant noise stopped him in his tracks. He halted, head cocked, not quite believing what he was hearing. It sounded like… footsteps. Many footsteps. Distantly, far enough that it could be mistaken for quiet thunder.

The man started forwards, his natural curiosity urging him to investigate. But then, he held back. What if it was another village like his own, on the warpath?

No. The people around this area were ghostly when they moved. They blended with the trees, leaving their prey completely oblivious. They would never be this loud.

What else could it be? Furthermore, did he need to worry himself about it? He wasn't a boy anymore. Leaping wildly off towers and grabbing at thin bars was not the lifestyle he led anymore.

But if he had the chance… would he go back to it? If Trico appeared right then, would he join the beast? The man had a good life here. The villagers respected him greatly, treating him as if he were royalty. If he went traipsing off, who knew if he'd ever come back? These were things he hadn't worried about as a child.

In his pondering, the noise had grown. Now it was unmistakable. Marching. Many feet, marching in synch.

He couldn't help himself. He had to know.

With merely a backwards glance, the man made up his mind on the spot, casting aside his logical thoughts, and readopting the mind of an adventurous child.

The sounds weren't hard to follow, but he was wary. He didn't want to just stumble into sight. He had to be strategic. Soft shoes making little to no noise on the dirt, the man made his way into the trees. He limped, but years of it had allowed him to adjust, so it didn't hinder his progress.

Though his tattoos were black, and virtually invisible in the low light, he felt as though they made him conspicuous. He wished for long sleeves.

The mirror bumping gently against his back, he crept forward, the marching seemingly growing louder with each step. What was happening? Who were these men? Was his village in danger? He knew the way back, so if they were, it would be easy to run back and warn them.

He started making calculations in his head. How many warriors they'd need, what weapons they would bring out, where they would send the women and children. Hopefully, this mysterious army didn't have advanced weaponry or tactics. His men were strong and brave, so if-

The marching had stopped.

He stopped, too. He listened.

Silence, save for the rustling of leaves and the idle sounds of woodland creatures.

Normally, the would put him at ease, but now, it only drove him to be more on edge.

Why had they stopped?

Moving with extreme caution, and watching his footing closely, he continued onwards, towards where he'd last heard them. He was crouched, ignoring the pain from his knee, eyes scanning the area relentlessly.

Ahead of him was a clearing. The man could hear the faint clanking of… metal? What type of weapons did these men have?

With practiced agility, he hoisted himself up the nearest tree, making sure he was concealed in the leaves. This would give him a better vantage point, and allow him to easily see the scale of this group.

He pushed aside leaves and twigs. He saw the clearing. He looked.

His heart stopped. His breathing stopped. He looked.

Not metal- stone. Not a group- an army. Not men- armor.

The living suits of armor from the Nest. These were the enemies that he and Trico had faced time and time again. Memories flooded through his mind, and he unconsciously rubbed at his shoulder, feeling an old scar. They were ruthless, autonomous, strong beings. They had no mercy, and no compassion. If they had a goal, they would destroy themselves trying to achieve it.

What were they doing here?

Seeing them in his home, his forest, made him sick to his stomach. It had been years since he last laid eyes on them, yet it felt as though it had only been yesterday.

There were dozens of them. He couldn't count them all. A great magnitude of stone warriors, crushing flowers, grass, and small animals underfoot.

The armor had stopped briefly, dropping into their odd, turtle-like crouched position. It only lasted a few moments. Then, as one, they all straightened up again, and at no visible cue, began their march once more.

This kicked the man into gear. They were heading straight for his village. Surely by now, the others had heard this thunderous march? They had to be making preparations.

He wasn't sure.

As quietly as he could, he jumped out of the tree, landing awkwardly in his haste, and internally cursing himself, and the ground.

He sprinted for home.

The man was panting, not out of weariness, but out of fear. Only now did he realize how terrified he was of them, for himself, and for his people. He and Trico, together, had some issues with the armor. A village of humans, armed with wooden spears, bow and arrows, rocks, and brute force? The man didn't want to think about the carnage, but he couldn't stop himself.

They did have one advantage. Intelligence. They were far sharper and more flexible than the stone warriors. The armor had a one-track mind, which didn't allow much leeway for obstacles. Would that be enough? It had to be.

Bursting back into the small half-circle of huts, he began shouting as soon as he deemed it safe. He yelled for everyone to awaken, to get out of bed, to ready themselves.

"We're being attacked! Wake up, wake up, wake up, we're under attack!"

Men, women, and children slowly started to peek out of doors, groggily wiping tired eyes and staring at him in confusion. They obviously thought he'd gone crazy. Perhaps some form of PTSD. Night terrors? There were many different hypotheses.

These trains of thought were all brought to a halt as the ground shook. The villagers murmured in alarm, clutching each other.

"Listen!" cried the man with the tattoos. "Listen! Footsteps, can you hear them?"

They could. They needed no further prompting. Like a well-oiled machine, everyone sprang into action. Men dashed for the weapons hut, dressing themselves as they went. Women guided children and the elderly into the woods, bringing supplies with them in case they needed to hide for a long period of time.

The man watched, still breathing hard, but satisfied. He hadn't needed to worry. His people were ready. They were prepared. They could handle themselves.

He unstrapped his mirror, holding it before him once more. The wise choice would be to get rid of it. It could hinder him in battle, provide an easy handle for an enemy, and was basically useless without Trico by his side.

The man returned it to its place, strapping it a bit tighter, and ran to get a spear.

The warriors were just beginning to formulate a battle plan when the first armor burst through the trees.

* * *

Far away, two large beasts were traveling, side by side on a narrow path.

The older one perked his ears, flicking his stubby tail.

They were getting closer.

He was going to see his boy.


	2. Journey

Trico crooned lowly, fluttering his wings and scattering feathers onto the ground beneath him. He sniffed, tilting his head towards the leaves of the tall trees that surrounded him. The boy. _His_ boy. Trico couldn't actually smell him, but he knew the child was close.

The creature was traveling by foot, trodding down well-worn forest paths and stepping easily over fallen trunks. It was a bit peculiar to see him walking. His kind wasn't suited for long distances on foot. They were built for agile, quick, intense attacks that left their opponent reeling.

Flying would have made more sense. He would have been able to cover much more ground, far more quickly, and wouldn't have been restricted by the environment around him.

However, something held him back.

From the bushes, a small trill pierced the air. Then, suddenly, a beast erupted out of the fauna, wings flapping, tail waving, bouncing about in a careless fashion. Trico let out a short rumble, and the other beast immediately calmed down… for a short time.

This was Trico's daughter. She was young, younger than he had been when he'd first met the boy. She was shorter than he was, her feathers downier, horns and wings smaller. Her feathers took on a much brighter hue, especially when she stood next to her father. The pup was boisterous, playful, and energetic, something that Trico would normally be happy to oblige in. Now, however, time was of the essence. He had to get to the human.

After he and the child had been separated, Trico had reluctantly returned to the Nest. Injured, exhausted, and scarred, he spent many days sleeping. When he'd awoken, he found another beast of his kind sitting beside him.

It was the one who'd consistently attacked the boy and himself during their adventure. At first, he was wary, sharply remembering the wounds she'd inflicted on him. However, after breaking free of the armor's influence, she was far more agreeable, and quite apologetic.

They'd gotten along well after that, and Trico had enjoyed her company. He had never been able to form a lasting relationship with another creature, besides the boy.

They explored the Nest together, leaping grandly and fearlessly from stone tower to stone tower, playing on tall spires and dancing on precarious ledges.

Before too long, she had borne a child. Full of bright-eyed curiosity, the pup had to be closely monitored, or else she was bound to walk straight off a cliff.

At first, Trico was a bit confused- and almost afraid- of the pup. His species weren't natural born parents, so it certainly took some learning on both of their parts. Soon, they all grew used to each other, and the adults had great fun teaching their child the ways of the Nest.

Weeks passed, and suddenly, Trico's mate passed away.

An illness had taken her, one that made her feathers rot and her eyes lose their shine. Her claws crumbled, beak softened, limbs weakened. Before long, she wasn't able to stand. Trico and the pup attempted to care for her, but there was nothing they could do. Eventually, she passed quietly.

Did Trico miss her? Vaguely. Distantly, in the way that animals did. He knew he had enjoyed his time with her, but he certainly didn't pine for it.

Besides, he had a child to take care of.

She was batting at a butterfly now, squeaking excitedly as it tried to get away from her. Gently, Trico thwapped her with his tail, distracting her, and allowing her prey to escape. In retaliation, she nipped at the tail, growling playfully.

With a snort, the elder creature began to move off once more, the younger following obediently.

They'd been following the stone warriors for days now, ever since the mirror had alerted Trico. He'd felt it once, before they'd started their journey, his tail twitching involuntarily. Then, once more, just today. The tip of his tail had sparked, and then fizzled out. Ever since getting part of his tail ripped off, it was incapable of firing the deadly lightning it had possessed. The mirror, however, still exercised some form of power over him.

It had to be the boy. He possessed the mirror. This logic was simple, but it stood out in Trico's mind. The boy owned the mirror, and the mirror directed him.

And he missed his boy.

Directly, almost in the way that humans did. He did, indeed, pine for their time together. He wanted the child back, to play, to relax, and to adventure with him.

It wasn't all emotional, though. Part of it was instinctive. Trico knew that he and the boy worked very well together. They had survived, and they had conquered the Nest. Every animal has a desire to be the best, and to provide the best possible future for their offspring. The human's intelligence and spirit was the most sure-fire way to secure that.

So, he and his child had set out to find the human.

After the stone warriors had lost a good portion of their air force, they had been working diligently on a way to escape the Nest. Previously, air travel had been the only way in or out. Trico and the boy had caused a mass death of many creatures of his kind, weakening the warriors' force exponentially. Still, they were not an army to take lightly.

For months, they labored, cutting a tunnel through one of the gigantic walls of the Nest. Trico and his family had avoided them as much as they were able to. They'd done an excellent job. The warriors weren't even aware of their existence.

A loud rumbling of footsteps had announced the tunnel's completion. From a secret, hidden perch, Trico and the pup had watched the army go by, heading outwards, to an unknown destination.

With no hesitation or planning, the two beasts trailed along.

And now, they were on the road.

As they were walking, a sound echoed through the forest. Both creatures heard it at the same time, radar ears perking, head swiveling. All was silent, all was still. Trico hardly breathed, and his pup, frightened and wary of her father's reaction, did the same.

They listened, and focused, shaking out of their plodding, traveling mode. More and more sounds were brought to light.

The clank of stone, the outcry of men, the scuffling of a battle.

With no warning, Trico broke into a sprint, leaving the other behind with a confused squawk.

* * *

The fighting raged. All around him, men and women were yelling in victory and pain, courageously throwing themselves into the fray.

He could feel proud later. For now, he needed to help them.

The man dashed towards a stone warrior, growling a fierce battle cry. He dove, smashing himself into the warrior's waist, and bringing them both to the ground. Leaping up, he wrestled with the thing, grabbing its spear and snatching it.

Now he had a weapon. A much more sturdy weapon than the wooden spears his village had to offer.

The stone man beneath him was flailing, trying to get up, trying to grasp and tear at his skin. How did he stop them? There was a way, he knew there was a way…

A memory alighted inside of him, and he scrabbled at the warrior's head, fighting for a good grip. Once he got it, the man planted his feet, and pulled as hard as he could. It took some work, but eventually, the thing's head popped off.

Immediately, it went limp, rock arms flopping back onto the ground, the light and life flickering out of it.

He allowed himself a triumphant moment, holding the head aloft.

"Pull off their heads!" he shouted, hoping his people would hear him over the din. "Pull off the heads, yank them off!"

Thankfully, those closest to him heard, and changed their tactics.

Still, however, they seemed to be outmatched. Soldiers were appearing everywhere, pouring out of the bushes and replacing their felled allies.

Something else. There had to be something else. He was the only one that had faced these warriors in the past. His people were looking at him to help them, to use his expertise to win this battle.

There was no time for thinking. A woman was screaming out, caught by one of the enemy. It held her shoulder roughly, keeping her in place while aiming carefully with its spear, ready to impale her skull.

The man ran, adrenaline rushing through his veins. Holding his spear horizontally, he rammed the soldier with it, bowling the thing over. They were, he had discovered, not quite as sturdy as they looked. Their balance certainly left something to be desired.

The next few minutes were lost to the man. He fought, and fought, and fought. Almost mindlessly, he charged the stone soldiers, fighting tooth and nail to defend his kind.

It wasn't enough.

Bit by bit, the humans were being pushed back, more and more of them falling to the merciless hand of the stone men.

Humans got tired, where rock did not.

The villagers were getting exhausted, and while they still fought valiantly, their bodies were weary.

The man wasn't immune to it, either. He stumbled and fell, picking himself back up, even though he found it much more agreeable to stay put.

Finally, it was over. The humans were huddled together in a small group, the strongest on the outside, spears and other weapons pointed out. Stone warriors surrounded them on all sides, steadily growing closer despite the efforts to keep them away.

As the man backed up, he ran into another villager. Something clattered against his back.

The mirror?

The mirror!

Desperately, he pulled it out, fumbling in his panic. Holding it like a shield, he pointed it at the stone warriors. The bright green circle illuminated the armor, resembling a crosshair.

The armor stopped. It twitched. It jerked. It collapsed in on itself, and reverted back into a crouched pose.

This was good. But it wasn't enough. As soon as he moved the mirror, that armor would return to a battle ready state. And besides, there were far too many stone warriors for him to illuminate.

He'd failed. They'd failed. The mirror had failed.

Tears ran down his face and into his beard, but he paid them no mind. The soldiers were getting closer and closer now, almost within arms' reach. It would be over soon. Fruitlessly, he kept the mirror pointed at the crouched armor, as if it would do any good.

In fact, it did do some good.

Another rumbling could be heard across the clearing. The man's heart sank. More reinforcements for the warriors?

He didn't need to wonder long.

Suddenly, the bushes exploded outwards, tree branches snapping off as two gigantic creatures leaped into the clearing. They destroyed the foliage around them with their size and speed, though they didn't seem to care too much.

The elder planted his feet firmly, eyes glowing a hostile red. He flapped his wings, hunched down, and roared a mighty roar, one that shook the ground itself. His daughter, behind him, mimicked the gesture, tail thrashing.

Both soldiers and humans stopped what they were doing, stilling and quieting. The entire battlefield grew silent for a split second, as the sudden appearance of two new combatants sank in.

Only one man spoke, lowering his mirror.

"…Trico?"


End file.
